2013.04.23 - Cat in a not so hot tin Evergreen
While yesterday was a beautiful spring day, today is... less so. The temperature's dipped down below fifty which is still spring weather but the overcast sky and the on-and-off showers has kept most people and their water-sensitive electronics indoors. Illyana isn't one of those people that's bothered by the cold, though today finds her in very different attire. Unless you count the boots. Those to-the-knee, thick-soled, very agressive boots have been paired with much more normal jeans and a Metro-U T-shirt. Over that, she has a rather worn Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters hoodie. Her long blonde hair is still loose, the length notable in an age where changing your style and color weekly usually requires much shorter hair. She is, of all things, standing beneath a tree. It's a type of evergreen, as it still has thick foliage while others are still putting out new leaves. No backpack today, she's standing beneath the tree with hands on hips, *glaring* up into the canopy even as the light, misty rain starts again. Neuroscience has indicated that the frontal lobe of the brain develops slower than the common wisdom initially thought, approaching full formation at the age of 25. This explains why teenager and kids sent off to college do many stupid things. Like keg parties. Or driving at questionable times of night. Or in Jeffrey's case, wearing yet /another/ white shirt and jeans, a leather jacket thrown on almost as an afterthought. Metropolis caters to many things, but to those with Jeff's dimensions? Not so much. So everything is more or less in the state of 'gently used'. He has a pack slung over one shoulder, one of those stern black affairs that men use in lieu of a purse to try and force their lives into some sense of organization. Even in mist and rain, it does not stop the giants boot from finding purchase in the ground. But wait, where is the actual questionable decision? That comes later, on spying a certain blonde glaring up into a tree. Its a strange enough sight, and she's pretty enough that he almost forgets the edge to their previous conversation. Or maybe Jeffrey still can't fathom a desire for distance. He waves so as to hail the woman, and then joins her. Looking up into the foliage. "So...we looking at the glory of nature? The transcendental wrath of the heavens?" A pause, then perhaps a more practical explanation. "Or you got something stuck up there? Cat? Purse?" He's fishing, you see. Illyana doesn't really pay attention to the waving because really. Who waves at her? "I said get down he--no. Absolutely not. I'm not climbing the damned--" She cuts off abruptly as Jeffrey joins her, giving him that chilly, chilly gaze that puts one in mind of a Siberian winter. "It's about to be the transcendental wrath of *me* in a moment." She says with a growling undertone that one someone with her angelic-type features should be cute. And yet... isn't. The annoyance is oddly derailed as she looks back over at him a second time and this time she looks him up and down. Allllll the way up. "Hands." She says, with the manner of one that's used to people doing what she tells them. Well, it can be argued that Jeffrey is none too bright in certain instances. Or to be more accurate, his mind filters things into their most positive aspect. So...cute she be. "That my dear sounds like an absolutely terrifying prospect." He means it, its just that it may come out so pleasantly in that deep bass rumbling tone that it might not come across as properly afeared. Still, his hands are granted, allowing the little Hells Angel (Of course having no knowledge of how quite literally correct he might be) access to do as they will. He looks around a bit, then shifts his weight. Just in case. Given Jeffrey's height, when he puts his hands out they're at about neck-level for her. And that's just not helpful. With a frown, Illyana reaches up for his shoulder (going on tiptoes a bit to do so) and pulls him downwards so he's leaning forward if he lets her. For him, *way* down. Her other hand pushes his so that they're at the full extension of his arms and, once he's leaning over far enough she lifts one booted foot and puts it in his hands, just assuming he'll link his fingers if need be. "Up." Jeffrey. Impromptu elevator. He gently accedes, because really, given the fact that he's probably akin to other giants she knows, is resisting really an option? Plus, there is something just so goddamn adorable about her little Imperial Highness. "Yes Ma'am." So down he does, lacing hands and giving her the boost she requires, lifting her into the stratosphere to reach whatever it is that she is desperately seeking to obtain or reacquire. "You know, when I said get to know you better, I thought a beer. Maybe bowling. Borscht before or after." He's really just making idle conversation, airing his thoughts to the wind. Most people would probably cling to him like a cat afraid of drowning as he lifts her upwards, either out of some fear of falling or a lack of trust in the one lifting them. But for whatever reason, the blonde doesn't seem to have that particular fear. "Keep going." She says as he straightens, putting her head abvoe his, one hand having moved to the top of his head for balance. "All the way." Which means she expects him to lift her over his head. Either she thinks she's just that light or he's just that strong. Though really, she's just used to being around some pretty damned strong guys. Her hold moves from his head to the branches to slide between them and keep her balance, which she manages to do fairly easily, until he's in a full overhand press putting her feet at a good nine feet in the air. "Gimmie--that---gotcha!" There's the sound of struggling, some yowling and a hiss. It's hard for Jeffrey to actually *see* through the canopy. "Bowling? Who the hell bowls?" Guess she is actually listening to him. "Down." "Neither do I, truth be told. Just seemed like something normal, happy go lucky folk do. You know, when they aren't trying to assert their dangerousness." Jeffrey opines, even as he follows the stated directions. "God...I dunno what you pissed off up there, but I do have bandages if you need." Jeff, always prepared impromptu elevator! He lowers her, not quite sure what he is expecting to see, but a slight tensing exposes that he is ready for the Hellmaw itself to open up. Not that he's closed anything like that, mind you, especially not to try and square off a debt with an old Aztec god. Bringing Illyana down requires a bit more hands-on approach to keep her balanced. Whichmeans that Jeff gets to decide just where he's putting his hands and hope he doesn't pay for it later. The why? Because one of Illyana's arms is busy cradling a wide-eyed and trembling... kitten. "So what, you don't know what normal, happy people do?" It should sound like a question with empathy. Concern. Instead there's an undertone that seems more suspicious. Angry. Annoyed. Maybe even mocking. It's a tone that doesn't carry happy or friendly, even though she's using him as a ladder. Her free hand does indeed have a few long, deep scratches that look like they came from something more lynx than housecat. Blood stains the cuff of her hoodie and drips to the ground but she gives it the same notice as the rain that falls about them and plasters her hair about her face and turns the grey of her hoodie darker at the shoulders. Jeffrey decides to go for broke. Namely, the method that gets her down the fastest, placement of hands be damned. She strikes him as the efficient sort, perhaps not willing to forgive but capable of understanding that which will convey her from point A to point B the fastest. He considers her tone, then...theres a shrug. Not so much the amiable lift of confusion, but a sincere communication of lack of understanding. "Thought I did. Not sure anymore." He admits. Its not particularly verbose or cheerfully ignorant as is traditional. Maybe its that very attitude she adopts that makes him so honest. He has nothing really to lose by being honest. He studies the cat, looks at it for a long, meaningful fraction of second. An old story recalled perhaps, maybe a figment of old folk weaving about in his head. Whatever the reason, he pays as little attention to the cat as possible. "Starting to wonder if you don't know, too." Its a hunch, a thrown out supposition. She already seems vexed by him, nothing can go further wrong, yes? Rain wicks off of his jacket as he steps past her, leans against the tree, breaths. He slings his bag in front of him, unzipping, pulling some off the shelf can of beer which he pops open and takes a swig from. "Could be wrong. Probably am. Just the impression that I get." Given her touchy nature, he could expect her to be grumpy over where he touches her but, oddly, she doesn't really seem to notice. Much as she didn't seem to care where she grabbed hold of him to get up. Odd, that someone that seems to scream 'don't touch me!' can also be so at-ease about it. The tiny, shivering kitten is tucked into a pocket with some care and it doesn't seem inclined to protest. Only then does Illyana turn her attention to her bleeding hand with a frown and pats her pockets for something to stem the bleeding. Those cold blue eyes flick over to him as he sort of calls her out on her own lack of social skills and she hitches a shoulder in a shrug. "I'm not a people person." Really? What a surprise. Oddly dexterous for one of his size as he sets down his beer, opens the bag, pulls out a cloth bandage. "Hand." He says in much the same monosyllabic nature as she has often adopted. When and if given it, he would inspect it, and after having deemed it satisfactorily clean would commence wrapping it. He doesn't even look up at her as he goes about the work. Uncharacteristically gentle, adroit for one that seems to reek of big-hearted, large-bodied clumsiness. "Nah. Its deeper than that. Not gonna ask though. Girls business is her own." Its all he'll say on the matter. He has his own secrets to keep, so he won't demand a confession. Just listen for the sprinkling of words she gives, often sparser than the morning drizzle that has turned into legitimate downpour. First aid attended to, he picks up the can where it lays, takes another swig as his eyes meet hers finally once more. Illyana gives over her hand without the gruding protest that might be expected from the terminally grumpy. She does watch him with narrowed eyes but it's more like she's trying to peel back the outer layers of him to see what lies beneath more than any type of glaring or annoyance. As he finishes she flexes her hand a bit, looking over his handiwork and then gives a huff of grudging approval before her eyes come up to meet his. Despite his advantage of height, there is little sense that she's looking up at him. Maybe it's the jut of her chin or the tilt of her head. Something that seems more than daddy's spoiled little princess making demands. Those eyes are still cold. Hard. They hold the same kind of emptiness of those who have been too long in the war and have done terrible things to survive. And no longer care that they do them. It's a bleak, chilling sort of thing, to look into them too long. "Thanks." Now if only it weren't offered with a frown lingering at her lips. Jeffrey steps forward. It would be hard, peeling back all those layers. They are there though, which might be interesting in and of itself. The beer can wars with the quiet, contemplative look he has on. He doesn't look down on her, there is only the slight incline of head to make eye contact. "Welcome." Its warm enough, downright pleasant but its like its welded on. A patchwork of repair, albeit a good one, an attempt to weld something lost onto a core of something altogether different. No falseness, just a sense that it was lost somewhere, and the attempt to graft it back on didn't happen just right. He stares, not creepily hopefully, but as if he is trying to confirm something to himself. Then, a simple question. "Is it hard?" Illyana's head cants over to the side just a bit. There's that furrow of her brow that makes her eyes narrow some but it's very different from her scowl. This is more a puzzled, thinking frown. "Is what hard?" She asks, not making the leap to whatever it is that he has. His face hardens a moment. That expressiveness, that open showcase of emotion shut down as he nods. "This. Trying to live in a glass cage, pretending you don't know what is going on out there. Wondering how long you can keep up the act of ignorance, or if you should just tear it away altogether and be what your actions, your history seem to indicate you should be." He actually steps past her now, so that their shoulders are mere inches apart as he looks past her. "Rose said 'stick to barking on Easy Street.' I don't know your road, you don't mine but..." He seems to struggle with it for a moment. Still, they say confession is good for the soul. "Its in how you move. How you frame your language. The way the three of you seemed to look out at the outside world but seemed to frantically desire to insulate yourself from it. I recognize it. I...miss it." He says, hand shoved into his pocket as he drinks down the remnants of the can, crushes it with just a bit too much force. "So I'm asking how hard it is, playing Lets Pretend." Illyana stands her ground, as he moves in line with her, turning her head to look at him, to watch him as he grapples with what he wants to say without turning her body towards him. Instead she still faces the tree and he faces away, even as she watches him and he speaks to her. Something of that frown slips away, and she just... watches him with a quiet intensity that he can practically feel even without meeting her eyes. "That depends." She finally says. "On if you measure success by fooling them," She doesn't have to say who 'they' are. "Or yourself. The first? Easier than it should be. They blind themselves. Yourself?" Then she just shakes her head and turns so she's looking forward now, like she's his mirror image. "I don't think you ever win that game." Jeffrey chuckles at the statement position. A morose, quiet sort of amusement. Or is it a lament? "Them's easy. Not going to say I'm not the guy you first met. Was who I was a long time ago. Lost some part of him someplace, somewhen, so I have to work at it. Not as effortless as it used to be." He admits, tilting his head to study her, though maintaining that status of mirror imaging. Theres a strong will in there, even if he plays a cheerful, simpler soul. "I want to try to be that guy again, but its like there is a pit in my stomach. Like I'm not getting some fix, like I'm starving. Maybe its why I made a fool of myself meeting you. I ain't no mindreader myself, but I get inklings. It was nice, if a bit selfish. Like I wasn't the only one trying to recapture something. Or see if it was even there in the first place." Were Illyana someone else, she might tell him he's too young to have so many miles on his soul. But who is she to talk? And looking at those around her that she names friend or family. The world she lives in is so very different. Not only because of the powers they have but because of the toll that's come with them. "Don't you know you can't go home again? It's like biting the apple. You can't get back into Eden." She turns towards him then, her golden hair a few shades darker from the rain having soaked it through. Her hoodie hangs from her shoulders, heavy with rainwater and the T-shirt beneath soaked as well. "We're not the people that we used to be. Now they're just masks to make other people feel more comfortable." She takes that half-step closer, close enough her body almost brushes his. "Pretending to be that person won't get you in out of the cold." He seems content to be there, for a while. Almost as if afraid that by shifting his weight, by even accidental contact, the sincerity of the moment will end. Still, eventually he moves arms to wrap around her, pull her in close. Acting more or less as a looming umbrella over the smaller woman. Due to lack of material shield from the wet, it will just have to do. "Just because you can't get in doesn't mean you shouldn't try to live at least part of your life as if the door will open any second." The point: being good, of trying to save anyone. There must be some standard of humanity, some moral compass, else the risk of being lost to darker urges. "Just so you know, I wasn't pretending when I said I thought you were really pretty." That at least, wasn't Lets Pretend. A true grain of that fellow whose reflection he tries to weave a little more back into himself ever day. That, Illyana wasn't expecting. For all that she tends to invade her friends' personal space, they rarely do so to her and then never so... affectionately. Whereas when he lifted her up, she kept her balance with surprising ease when he pulls her close her feet stumble in those heavy boots and he can feel the tension that locks up her body. "If you want to get warm, the only way left is Hellfire." She argues, moving to pull away. It's there in the tightness of her muscles, that she's keeping from doing so in a more violent way out of reflex. "Yeah well I didn't have to do anything for that. You can compliment my folks." Mentally, Jeffrey cannot help but be amused. Utterly feline indeed. Still, he releases her, sucking in and releasing breath. "Maybe. Maybe I'm a damned fool for trying. Figure someone should benefit from it, though. If that looks like going home or wandering towards Eden, maybe I am." He watches that movement though, and there is a visible uptick of lip in appreciation. "Yeah, you dangerous alright hun. Still, I made a promise to the lil' miss that I would win you over." As a friend, of course. Jeff isn't stupid enough to think at this juncture that what the behavior he has witnessed thus far is a desire to go steady. "Its a compliment. Accept it. You don't gotta be all blush and fluttering lashes, but I'm trying here." He says with a chuckle and a wide grin. "You should be more careful about making promises." Illyana says, her steps putting her out of his rather impressive reach as he lets her go. She goes to shove her hands into the pockets of her hoodie but that jars the injured one on the one side and sends the kitten that's been so quiet thus far to giving a plaintive mewling yowl of surprise on the other which has her jerking both hands out. "I need to get it back to its mom." She says, completely changing the subject. Jeffrey keeps that grin, stepping back as if to assure her that no further hugs from above shall occur. "The easy ones aren't as fun to keep." Is what he offers, even as he studies the maelstrom going on in her sweater. "Yeah, probably be best. I'm sure Momma Cat is probably plenty vexed by now." Even if he doesn't know what momma cat is. What walks like a cat, meows like a cat, but isn't a cat? It sets the deceptively powerful brain in motion as she makes her declaration of intent. "You need any more boosts, you let me know." And he waves again, just to be contrary. He also doesn't promise an end to hugging. Its just not in his programming. Oh, what Illyana has in her pocket is a cat alright. What stole the kitten and ran off with it... Well, that *wasn't* a cat. She gives a short huff of amusement at his offer and nods. "Yeah, I'll keep that in mind." She holds up her bandaged hand. "Thanks again." Then she's heading off into the grey mist of the falling rain, pulling her hair around so she can rather belatedly pull the hood up on her hoodie as she fades from view. Category:Log